Chapter 1705: Manhunt



"They are not here!"

The frustrated cry echoed through the dark, labyrinthine tunnels, bouncing off the cold, damp walls. Desperation gnawed at the leader of the elite dark elves, the 'Voidstalker' unit, as they pursued their elusive prey.

"These damn caves and tunnels! Is there no other way to flush him out?"

But these weren't ordinary traps. Each bomb capable of igniting an explosion as powerful as a tier 6 spell. The aftershocks were lethal, leaving behind a toxic residue that permeated the air and ground.

When ignited within the confined spaces of the caves, the bombs' danger escalated exponentially. The explosions were devastating, and the lingering poison was insidious. A few of the elves were seriously injured and in desperate need of intensive healing. To add insult to injury, strategically triggered rockfalls had sealed off several passages, hindering their progress and allowing their target precious time to escape.

The unit's leader, Ezzekiel, tried to rally his men, his voice striving to remain steady and calm. "We are getting close! Keep trying." But despite his composed exterior, turmoil bubbled within him.

A significant target from the Khaos Gate had evaded him, making a mockery of his esteemed reputation. As a gravity specialist, it was his forte to sense subtle shifts and movements. And here he was, repeatedly thrown off by their target. He'd been attempting to sync with the planet's gravitational waves, trying to discern patterns that might hint at their quarry's location. But the moment he felt he was close to a breakthrough, the trail would go cold, the target slipping away yet again.

Amidst the palpable tension, a lone figure emerged from the shadows, racing towards the Voidstalkers with haste. It was Kieran, the dark elf who was a prisoner of this Demon's Pit planet.

Kieran,  halted before Ezekiel, offering a nod of respect. "I've been clashing with the target over the past few weeks," Kieran began, attempting to make a case for himself. "Let me assist."

Ezekiel studied Kieran for a moment, his gaze cold and calculating. "Those things you said… only proof of your incompetence," he sneered dismissively. "Return to your post and don't waste our time."

Such a biting retort stung Kieran, but he swallowed his pride, persistence evident in his eyes. "I'm familiar with this region. I can be your guide"

But before Kieran could further plead his case, a scout from the Voidstalkers came dashing forward, panting heavily. "He's resurfaced," the scout reported hurriedly, "about 40 miles to the east." The information had come from the warden's: a soul tracker, a device that could detect the prisoner's imprinted spirit soul.

Without wasting a moment, Ezekiel conjured a swirling portal, its shimmering surface beckoning them to step through.

"He's running to that cave!" said the dark elf holding the device.

Rather than charging ahead impulsively, Ezekiel gestured to Kieran. "You are the guide, you lead the way," he commanded, his voice resonating with authority.

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Taking a deep breath and drawing upon his intimate knowledge of the area, Kieran set off in pursuit. Every shadow, every whisper of wind, driving him to close the distance. But as he neared the silhouette, the figure turned to face him, locking eyes with Kieran's determined gaze. A split-second realization dawned on Kieran — this was but a clone, a mere distraction. However, his heart sank further when he noticed the gleaming bottle clutched in the clone's hand, a sinister omen of what was to come.

KABBBOOOOOM!

The explosion was deafening, its force rocking the very foundations of the caves. Smoke, dust, and echoes of the blast lingered in the air.

From a safe distance, Ezzekiel watched the spectacle unfold, an amused smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. With Kieran apparently obliterated, the dark elf leader couldn't help but revel in the moment. "That naive drow," he chuckled to himself, thoroughly entertained,  "that bumbling drow managed to entertain me at least."

Unbeknownst to Ezzekiel, Kieran had employed his Recall spell at the last moment, whisking him away to the safety of the citadel. Rage bubbled within him as he reflected on what Ezzekiel did to him. "Those bastards," he growled under his breath. Instead of seeking vengeance right away, Kieran chose to seethe silently on the sidelines, biding his time and plotting.

For the Voidstalker unit, the hunt had grown cold. Two days, three days… a full week passed with no trace of their elusive target. Emery had vanished, seemingly into thin air, and the once resolute pursuers were left to fruitlessly scour the winding tunnels and caverns.

"Dammit!! He's got to be around here! Search for him!" Ezekiel's voice rang out, frustration lacing every word. The target had never been closer, and yet he had slipped away like a phantom.

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In the hidden depths of the caves, Emery was far from idle. Through methodical experimentation with his clone, he had discovered a crucial weakness in his enemies' tracking ability. As long as he didn't resurface, they could not detect him. But to exploit this weakness, he needed to devise a plan that would allow him to move through the caves without detection.

Working closely with Master Borin the experienced blacksmith, and Atlas, they opted for a careful approach. Atlas would use his [seismic scan] to find the closest path to connect them to the next closest tunnel. Emery's then would subtly soften the rock walls using a nature spell, careful to use only low-tier magic that wouldn't risk detection. As for Master Borin, he crafted specialized tools, designed to break through the softened rock without generating much noise.

The process was painstakingly slow and physically taxing. To travel a distance that normally would have taken an hour, they had to labor for a full week. Each strike of the tools had to be measured, and each movement was calculated. There was no room for error.

But Emery wasn't simply focused on escape. Throughout their slow advance, he used the opportunity to delve into the dark art of the soul imprint that the elves had employed. Atlas, ever loyal, offered himself as a subject, but Emery had a different plan. Within his storage rings, he had stored 50 dark elf spirit souls, as they were also prisoners of the Demon's pit, they also have imprints on them.

Carefully, he began to probe these imprisoned souls, seeking ways to erase the imprints that had bound them. It was dangerous work, filled with uncertainty, but Emery knew that understanding this soul imprint might prove crucial if he ever wanted to escape.

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